


Mania

by ABitObsessed, Blixer



Series: ShuAkeWeek2020 [6]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Fluff, Gags, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Manipulation, Master/Pet, Obsession, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Tension, ShuAkeWeek2020, Stalking, Surprisingly, Vomiting, bottom!ren, defacing government property (it's just money lol), top!akechi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27547738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABitObsessed/pseuds/ABitObsessed, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blixer/pseuds/Blixer
Summary: Amamiya Ren loves Akechi Goro. Too much.He will do anything for him.Anything.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: ShuAkeWeek2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988329
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	1. Envy

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Sins, Partnerships, Per aspera ad astra (through difficulties to the stars)  
> A bit iffy on the last one, but oh boy is sins going to be a major player in this.
> 
> 98.

Time for Ren Amamiya was measured by the time it took to see Goro Akechi again. 

Ren had a notebook in which he calculated the exact amount of days, hours,  _ seconds  _ it took. He applied for another part-time job, dove into Mementos by himself, sold extra equipment and medicine that could have been used for his team just so he could buy an expensive watch that counted that agonizing time for him.

He still meticulously wrote down those torturous moments of being apart in his notebook. Sometimes he kissed the writing, painfully acknowledging the fact that another day had passed without being in the detective’s presence. 

Morgana tried to ruin it at one point, claiming that it was weird.

Ren made sure to zip him up tight in his bag, stuffing it with extra useless books as punishment, but Morgana didn’t see it as such. He weathered it, and still yelled at Ren to go to bed on time.

It was really starting to get on his nerves. Why did they force the irritating cat on him?

Thin ice. Thin ice. Morgana’s stupid cat paws were walking on thin fucking ice.

Ren hated everyone who stole Goro’s time from him. He hated that precious ‘Sae-san’, who the detective mentioned every once in a while with a hint of fondness that made Ren absolutely sick with envy. She stole him away when she asked for his help on difficult cases, and the thief would do anything to make this overwhelming ache  _ stop. _

He hated those interviewers who made him spout what had to be utterly sordid and worthless words to appease them, for making him paste on a face the detective clearly didn’t like, that made him unhappy. 

And those ugly hyenas, giggling and tittering in the background, those slimy mongrels, gluing themselves to Goro’s side and leeching off of his fame, those foul wenches who thought they had the audacity to be in his presence, had the gall to think they could preserve their time with poorly-taken selfies, he hates them too, with a particular brand of venom. Those  _ girls  _ that liked to call themselves ‘fans’.

Why did they get his invaluable time when they were so obviously undeserving of it?

Underneath the anger, there was a desperation so acute that Ren felt he couldn’t breathe sometimes. A need so strong, a wish so powerful that he found himself unable to refuse.  _ Look at me,  _ the raven pleaded in his head, _ notice me. _

Arsene consoled him as best he could, but it wasn't enough to calm the feelings threatening to spill over and drown him.

So everyday spent without Akechi, without the Detective Prince, without  _ Goro _ , Ren drowned.

Then there were the Phantom Thieves. Even his supposed  _ friends were _ starting to test his patience. Especially when they asked him to spend time together, instead of using said time to watch Goro’s interviews and news clips and any sort of video with him in it, even if he showed up for only ten seconds, sometimes even less than that.

They told him his fixation was unnatural, out of place. Futaba told him he was obsessed, and not in a good way. She compared it to how fans got fanatical, their whole life dependent on one thing, their happiness and sadness hinged on whether or not good or bad things were happening to their object of desire. 

They don’t understand. He’s not obsessed. He’s just in love.

What’s wrong with wanting to know everything about the person you love? What’s wrong with devoting your entire being to learning all the facts of their daily life, from the way they brush their teeth in the morning, to the way they check to make sure the gun under their pillow is still there? What’s wrong with studying their eating habits just so that you know what to give them when you go out, so that when you give them their favorite treat, they might notice you, or think fondly of you? What’s wrong with wanting to fill the banks of your empty memory with all that, just so that you can make them the happiest they can be? 

Is it so wrong, that when he gets the chance, he follows Goro everywhere, picks up on his ticks, learns his schedule, finds out that he’s the Black Mask and refuses to tell his team because he wants to keep the detective all to himself?

_ Nothing,  _ Arsene tells him as Ren openly stares at Goro from across the small, annoying cafe table that’s getting in the way.  _ There’s nothing wrong with that at all.  _

Goro hasn’t said anything about him staring yet, so he keeps doing it, trying to count each individual follicle of hair in his eyebrows and his eyelashes. He gets to thirty-two before Goro blinks, taking a sip from his tea, drawing Ren’s attention to his lips instead. They’re pink, soft-looking, plump, and a million other things that he’d later write down in his cherished notebook, under the section titled ‘Adjectives to Describe Goro Akechi’s Lips’. 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done something similar--about the detective’s hair, his eyes, his ass, usually managing at least thirteen pages before Morgana would force him to go to bed, sinking his claws into his thighs as motivation.

Ren could appreciate pain being used as a motivating factor, and he had acknowledged as much as he had settled in for bed the first time Morgana had dared to do it. Ruminating over this as he continued to stare, he supposes that the only reason he hasn’t thrown the cat out yet is because he gets a little high off the pain. As much as he doesn’t think his love for Goro is strange, he’s at least a little aware that it isn’t ‘normal’ to ask for his friends to hit him so he can feel good. So Morgana ‘scolding’ him with his claws and sometimes letting himself get hit by Shadows would have to do.

When he’d get cut by a sword or claws or knives, he tried to imagine that it was Goro slicing him up. Sometimes, when he laid in bed and Morgana was asleep, he’d press down on his wounds and fantasize about the brunette using that gun on him, watching with sadistic glee while he bled out slowly. He wondered if Goro would forego a weapon and just use his bare hands to bruise him, choke him, mark him in any way. Ren knew that in any scenario he came up with, the pain would probably make him feel good enough he’d be able get off without being touched.

“You’re staring,” Goro remarks pleasantly as he smiles and sets his cup on the table, bringing Ren out of his thoughts. “You see something you like?”

“You’re handsome,” Ren replies nonchalantly, carefully filtering out much more long-winded and incredibly incriminating sentences. “Everyone knows that. You can hardly blame me for staring.”

Goro smiles, obviously pleased by the compliment. “You’re awfully direct about it, unlike everyone else. It’s very refreshing,” he says as his eyes bear into his own, digging deeper, looking for more. “You never fail to surprise me, Amamiya.”

Ren does not bother to hide his shiver. Goro’s smile gets wider.

“By the way…” Goro begins casually, refilling his tea cup and going for the sugar, blinking when the raven drops exactly three cubes of sugar into his cup before he can, just how Ren knows he likes it. The detective doesn’t otherwise react, merely grabbing his spoon and stirring. “I get the feeling that someone’s been following me around, lately.”

The thief freezes. Had he been caught on a particularly clumsy day? Did he find some evidence Ren had forgotten to pick up? No, he couldn’t have, he was so careful...it had to be someone else, right?

“Yeah?” he says instead, hoping that his face shows the appropriate amount of concern, and not the absolutely crazed notion of finding this stalker’s name and beating down their shadow within an inch of its life, forcing them to have a change of heart and turn themselves in. No one else but him should have the privilege of knowing Goro’s schedule down to the millisecond.

Goro nods, swirling the liquid in his cup. “Ever since I became the Detective Prince, I’ve always felt many eyes on me as I walked home after leaving the studio or the precinct. I knew that multiple people were stalking me. But recently, I feel that it’s less, somehow. Whereas it used to be more like four or five different presences I felt, now it’s only one, just at the edge of my awareness. Coincidentally,” he pauses, looking up right into Ren’s bright silver eyes, “I’ve been seeing a rising number of stalkers confessing their crimes and being incarcerated, even after months of engaging in their criminal behavior, with previously no signs indicating their guilt or remorse. Of which they profusely express in all of their statements. It’s almost like…” he licks his lips, “they’re having changes of heart.”

Ren swallows and tries to play it as casual as he can. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

Goro smirks. “Indeed it is. I had been growing weary of it, so I’m glad I didn’t have to arrest them myself. It could have gotten out of hand.”

The thief adapts a deceptively relaxed posture, sliding on the best unaffected and stoic mask he has. “And...what about this last one?”

“What about them?”

Ren fidgets with his hair, looking to the side. “You don’t mind them stalking you?”

“Not particularly, no,” Goro responds, surprising the raven, cupping the ceramic with both of his hands. When Ren makes a questioning face, Goro elaborates with an intrigued glint to his bright red eyes. “This last stalker...like I said, they teeter the line between being known and being undetectable. They’re very subtle, and quite skilled at being unseen. I often can’t tell if I’m being watched or not. As a detective, I can appreciate that. And they don’t bother me in person, or send me letters every few days demanding unreasonable things from me.”

Ren has a particularly powerful pair of binoculars that had let him watch Goro from the top of an abandoned building as he moved about in his apartment. He’d stolen it from his father’s priceless military collection before he got shipped off, leaving behind a cheeky note that would have gotten him beaten. He knew he wasn’t going back to his hometown, even back then, so why not? A last act of rebellion before cutting them out entirely.

“Still,” Goro says, bringing him out of his thoughts. “I wonder  _ why  _ this person stalks me. Usually, stalkers have an agenda--typically they want to learn the schedule of the other person so that they can intercept them at any point in time in order to get closer. But even though I feel this person’s eyes on me, they never approach me, even in the anonymity of a crowd. They don’t send me trinkets or gifts and then demand I return the favor or blackmail me to meet with them. It’s more like they just want to watch me, and are content to view from afar.”

_ We don’t deserve to take up any more of his time than we already do,  _ Arsene quips. Ren agrees.

Goro shifts in his seat a little, but a pleased smile melts onto his face, completely genuine. Ren would take a picture and frame it in his notebook alongside all of the other pictures of Goro’s smile, real and fake, but it would be weird to pull out his phone now, and it might drive him off, which is the last thing that Ren wants to do. 

The detective looks into his tea cup fondly, as if he is thinking about a particularly happy memory in his head. “It’s a little strange, isn’t it?” he wonders aloud. “I don’t mind this person paying attention to me. In fact, it feels…” he tapers off, setting his cup down and leaning forward a bit, giving Ren every last golden drop of his attention, “fantastic. Knowing that someone is watching me, learning me, caring enough about me to figure out everything about me, while they remain completely anonymous. Though...the anonymous part is no longer so anonymous, seeing as there’s only one person I suspect of being apt enough to sneak around like a thief--considering they picked the lock to my apartment for me when I lost the spare key, proving he had a very particular set of skills, one of which stalking while being undetected wouldn’t be so far fetched, I think that this last person is  _ you,  _ Ren Amamiya.”

_ It was the gentlemanly thing to do,  _ Arsene pouts when Ren directs his ire at being caught his way.  _ Back in my day-- _

Ren tells him to shut up, which he does with a grumble, and focuses more on Goro’s reaction. He doesn’t seem upset, which is...good. He’d get rid of anything that made the detective feel anything remotely negative, even if it was himself. His existence means nothing in comparison to the detective’s mood.

“Did you notice me, senpai?” Ren asks cheekily, playing for cute and carefree and hoping his excitement doesn’t show.

“I did,” Goro notes, sipping at his perfectly sugared tea. “You weren’t very subtle when it came to other things, like how you knew how I preferred my coffee and tea, or referenced a joke I only said in confidence,” he pauses as he looks up, the curiosity in his gaze intense. He’s raking his eyes over Ren, as if he is a fascinating subject for him to analyze and pick apart. The detective looks like he wants to dedicate his life to figuring him out, searching under the layers of his personality to see what makes him tick, so that whenever he feels like it, he knows just how to break him, knows how to make the raven entirely his, to toy with and destroy as he pleases. “But I don’t mind that.”

“You really don’t mind…?” Ren asks quietly, failing to hide the way he’s shaking.

“Not one bit, my precious kouhai,” Goro responds, amusement and fixation flinting his eyes into a raging bonfire. “Feeling your eyes on me, knowing that you’re cataloging every moment in your brain, holding a special place in your head...I find that I quite enjoy the constant attention. So please. Continue to do as you like.”

Ren deflates, because there’s no way that this is real. There’s no way that Akechi would want him--a filthy, lowly streak of foul found anywhere on any street. “I...don’t know if I can.”

“Why not?” Akechi asks, a little hardness in his tone, and Ren flinches a little.   


“You’re beautiful, perfect,” he says reverently while crossing his arms, holding himself. “Nothing like me. I’m just some lowly stalker you have the common decency to hang out with sometimes. It’s more than I deserve.”

“I think,” Goro starts, draining his cup and slamming it down on the table harshly, startling the thief. He stands up quickly, leaning over the table, invading his personal space so thoroughly that Ren notes, with muted delight, that Goro’s eyes have darkened to the color of rusted blood, “you underestimate just how interesting you are to me.”

“But!” the raven starts, confused. Why would amazing, impeccable, wonderful Goro Akechi spare him the time of day? Sure, Ren hates everything that steals the detective’s time away from him, but he’s not presumptuous enough to think that he deserves that time in the first place. He’s just another face in the crowd, a boring existence. “I’m just one of the hundreds of people you’re forced to care about. There’s no way I’m interesting.”

Goro’s face twists, and while it’s beautiful, it means Goro is upset, and that’s wrong, so wrong, and Ren put it there, and he scrambles to make it right because Goro being upset just shouldn’t  _ exist. _ “I-I mean--!”

“Shh,” Goro soothes before he can freak out too much, a gloved finger pressed against his lips. “Don’t worry, little one. Everyone else is  _ trash _ , and I wouldn’t hesitate to throw them into the garbage where they belong. You’re different. I would  _ never  _ throw you away.”

“Y-you wouldn’t...?” Ren whispers. Those are the words he’s been waiting to hear since...

“Really,” Goro responds. “Stalk me all you want. That’s where I want you to be. Think you can do that, darling?”

Ignoring how being called ‘darling’ makes searing electric sparks run down his spine, he nods his head. He can follow orders. Orders are easy. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” Goro says with a smile, leaning back into his chair. 

They both immediately miss each other, even though they are less than two feet apart.   
  
  


Thus began the stalking of Goro Akechi, and the obedient shadow that was only all too happy to do as it was told.


	2. Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ren fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:3c

Ren fucked up.

He just wanted Goro’s coffee to be perfect.

It’s not his fault that he used all the beans in the café to get it just right.

It’s not his fault that Sojiro didn’t have enough left over to open the restaurant.

It’s not his fault that Sojiro forced him to clean the entire place as punishment, not his fault that he’s put on house arrest until Sojiro gets another shipment of beans, not his fault that when his phone gets taken away, not his fault that when the café opens again he has to serve customers with a smile on his face while his guardian watches him with hawk eyes, making sure he doesn’t step one foot out of the café, or one toe out of line.

It's not his fault.

That’s what he tells himself to cope with the fact that he’s disobeying orders. 

Today will be the third day that he’s let Goro be unmonitored, unprotected, unseen. It feels longer than that. Ren feels like he’s been chasing and hunting the detective for years, always trying to keep him in sight. __

Ren hasn’t even known Goro for half a year.  _ It’s not normal to feel this way after such a short time, _ a small, infinitesimal part of himself murmurs. A larger voice is screaming at the top of it’s lungs  _ why couldn’t we have found him sooner?  _

He blinks--realizes he’s been wiping the same spot on the counter for more than ten minutes. It’s shiny enough that he can see his vacant-eyed reflection--a mask, a defense mechanism.

He can’t. Think about this. He can’t think about  _ him _ , or the dagger in his heart will pierce deeper, spilling desperation and--and obsession--no, no, it’s not obsession, he’s  _ not  _ obsessed--he’s in love.

That’s right. 

He loves Goro.

He tries to shove it all down, box it up. He tries to keep his emotions from contorting his face. The faucet has been turned, blood spilling from a wound, the detective always on his mind. He’s been too complacent in allowing himself to indulge in Goro’s splendor.

But wait--what’s. What’s wrong with that? 

No. No, it’s not wrong. It isn’t wrong to be thinking about him all the time. It’s not.

_ It is not,  _ Arsene agrees firmly, but his reassurance does little to quell the storm in his heart.

The bell over the door jingles as it admits a new customer, and Ren takes in a shaky--no, steady, it’s steady--breath, pulling at the remnants of--something, a mask he used to use before Goro removed it--what did it look like? But he doesn’t need it anymore--why should he hide, Goro doesn’t want him to hide, it makes him upset--but in a fit of consuming self-consciousness he plasters it on, forcing the corners of his mouth into what he knows, hopes, is a passable service smile before turning to greet--

Goro Akechi is standing there, turning his head this way and that, looking indifferent at what he sees. But Ren knows better, he’s always watching the detective, he can tell when he’s actually bored--it’s usually when he’s talking to his fans or his coworkers--he gets this blank glint in his otherwise beautifully rusted eyes, and Ren hates that look and he’s glad when it’s directed at other people, glad that when he notices Ren watching him his lips curl into a pleased little line and his eyes spark to life--but Goro isn’t happy with Ren right now. When his eyes land on Ren they do not light up. His lips remain still. There is a stiffness to the way he moves that wasn’t there before.

Ren can read the detective. Goro’s mad.

Goro’s mad. Goro’s mad.  _ Goro’s mad. _

Ren automatically knows it’s his fault. He should have stopped when the sun was creeping into the shop, should have kept it discrete, should have done so many things differently, should have should have should have.

Should have. It’s his fault. 

He’s not aware that his hands are shaking or that his breathing has picked up. All he knows is should have and his fault.

Arsene is silent even as he bristles protectively.

Goro’s eyes scan him, continuing to look empty, and Ren is hit with the full force of his irritation. The thief ducks his head, knowing he messed up, it’s his fault,  _ I can’t take Goro looking at me like that. _

Ren stares at his paled expression on the too clean countertop. He can see how badly he jolts when Goro’s footsteps tap across the floor. His shoulders go taut when the detective takes a stool in his hand and deliberately drags it across the wood before sitting himself down.

The raven swallows and wipes the counter again.

He can see in his periphery how Goro pretends to peruse the menu, can see how he rests his chin in his hand, how he crosses his legs, how the fingers of his other hand tap against the counter deliberately, one after the other.

To everyone else, Goro is just a customer, maybe a little unimpressed by the décor, nonetheless willing to pay.

But every line of movement since Ren saw him walk through the door screams anger, so hot and furious the cafe should rightfully be drowning in flames. 

Goro may be smiling pleasantly, but Ren doesn’t know. He isn’t looking. Not right now. 

He can’t look. 

“Hello again, Amamiya.”

Ren just stares at the counter and tries to make his hands stop shaking.

“I haven’t seen you for a few days,” he continues. “I was beginning to grow worried.”

“Sorry,” is the first strangled word out of Ren’s throat. “I messed up.”

“Mmm,” Goro hums, propping his elbows on the counter and lacing his fingers together, resting his chin on them. “I didn’t even receive a text message.”

“My phone got taken away,” Ren offers weakly. He knows it’s no excuse--he could have taken it from Sojiro, he’s an old man and Ren is stronger, he’s trained himself to  _ be  _ stronger, he could have asked Futaba to get it back for him, could have asked her to set up a line of communication--something,  _ anything  _ to let Goro know why he wasn’t stalking him anymore.

Goro doesn’t acknowledge that he spoke. “I’ll take a light brew, please.”

It’s not what he usually orders, and it’s Ren’s worst brew, the one he has the least practice with. Goro knows this--he’s doing it on purpose.

Ren swallows in the pathetic sound that wants to escape his mouth and turns to the beans. “Coming...right up,” he manages haltingly.

He can’t get his hands to stop shaking. He pours too many beans. The filter is off-center. The water is too hot. There’s too much of it. He lets it soak too long.

Ren knows it tastes terrible, but there’s nothing he can do. He can feel Sojiro’s eyes on him; he can’t use more beans or he’ll be punished--that’s why he’s being punished in the first place. He’s too afraid to let Goro wait for a better cup, because that could be a mistake.

Anything could be a mistake. He’s been thrown onto a minefield.

He sets the cup in front of Goro and hopes nothing explodes.

Ren sucks in a shaky breath through his nose and chances a look up to meet Goro’s eyes. 

Goro isn’t looking at him.  _ Goro  _ isn’t  _ looking  _ at him.

Ren doesn’t exist. Goro’s talking to a wall. 

He isn’t looking at him.

His fault.

The detective spins the cup and runs his finger over the rim, staring at the steam with that vacant look in his eyes. He’s still smiling pleasantly.

“I have a curious story to tell,” he says, after he’s given Ren a long silence in which he can spiral. “There was this person. I had asked them to do a daily task for me, as a favor. And they had been working so diligently, ensuring that the job was accomplished no matter the extenuating circumstances. I was... _ proud _ of this person. They made me happy.”

Ren can’t help the way his pounding heart jumps achingly in his chest, because even if the detective isn’t addressing him personally, even if he’s using past tense, he made Goro happy at one point. He did that.  _ He  _ did.

Goro takes a sip of his slightly cooled coffee and does not react or comment on the taste. “But then they let someone get in the way,” he sighs, his smile becoming razor sharp. He looks disturbingly happy. “They allowed what should have remained a minor annoyance become a major problem.”

Ren shivers involuntarily.

“Such a shame, too. I was going to share some rather interesting information with them,” he takes another sip. “It truly is unfortunate that they couldn’t follow a simple request. I have no choice--I can no longer place my faith in them without fear of repercussion.”

“Sorry,” Ren whispers, his voice warbled and thin. “Goro, I’m  _ sorry.  _ Please, just look at me.”

More crushing silence passes, and Goro takes another sip of his abysmal coffee, not reacting to Ren’s interjection in any way. The space that Ren takes up has folded around him and swallowed him whole, leaving behind nothing but the vague sense of a deformed, disobedient shadow. He doesn’t exist.

“How will you make it up to me?” Goro wonders, his tone rhetorical--he’s talking to himself. It’s clear he doesn’t expect an answer.

Ren wants to say so many things. He wants to apologize until his throat is raw and his tongue is dry. He wants to throw himself onto the wooden floor and crawl to Goro and beg for forgiveness at his knees.

Sojiro coughs and Ren flinches. The old man doesn’t seem to be listening to their conversation.

His whole body flushes hot with shame.

But--why would it be shameful to apologize? He’s not--he’s not  _ ashamed _ of his relationship with Goro.

He isn’t.

Is he?

_ We art not,  _ Arsene asserts sternly, but Ren can’t hear him.

He bites his lip and grips the counter against the sudden whirlpool of emotions and thoughts that flood his head--everyone, all his personas are screaming at him but he can’t--he can’t understand what they’re saying--he can only catch a few words here and there and they slip between his fingers like mercury--

_ Stop this-- _

_ You’ll die-- _

\--and it hurts, it feels like someone is hammering a nail right into his brain--

_ Lose him again--!! _

\--something tears into his chest and squeezes his heart--throbbing, bleeding teeth--

_ Don’t-- _

_ So tired-- _

_ Not worth it-- _

\--but his body is weary. He’s exhausted. 

He doesn’t want to-- _ wake up--!! _

_ Can’t take it anymore--!! _

_ SILENCE, IMPUDENT CREATURES!!  _ his shadow screeches above the din, and the jumbling cacophony of voices becomes eerily, blissfully silent, and Ren nearly sags in relief. 

If Goro notices, he doesn’t say anything.

That’s never happened to him before. The way he lost control scares him.

He feels vulnerable and weak, like he’s been poisoned, like he’s been wounded. His grip on the counter becomes tighter in an effort to keep himself upright. 

Pathetic. What gravel he’s been reduced to from so little hardship. 

Goro continues to sip at his coffee.

Sojiro turns a page.

The news channel on the television changes from one story to the next.

Ren bites his lip as his knuckles turn white, stray pieces of wood slipping into his skin.

When Goro’s coffee is gone, he takes his wallet out and puts the necessary amount of money down, pausing a bit with a hand still resting over the bills, before he finally meets Ren's desperate stare.

The thief’s heart drops to the floor at the obvious disappointment in his dull eyes. His teeth tear a cut into his lip.

Goro doesn’t say anything as he walks out the door, giving Sojiro a smile as he passes by. 

The bells jingle pleasantly as Ren stares at his ugly reflection.

He knows if he focuses too much on how hurt he feels right now he’ll break and crumble and turn to dust, so he goes to take Goro’s money and cup in order to distract himself.

His hand freezes when he sees the sloped scrawl of the detective’s handwriting inked across one of the bills. 

Ren swallows down the lump in his throat. It bounces back, but lighter--less cloying and painful. 

It’s still a lump.

Flicking his eyes up briefly to make sure Sojiro is still occupied with his crossword, Ren sweeps the bills and coins into his palm, casually dropping his hand below the counter and pocketing the defaced bill, putting the other cash in the register as nonchalantly as possible. He deposits the dirty cup into the sink and starts cleaning the dishes as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

Sojiro doesn’t seem any the wiser, muttering under his breath.

It doesn’t count as stealing. Ren has no intention to use it for himself, other than to ogle and worship Goro’s handwriting. A much grander purpose for the paper rather than being exchanged for  _ coffee beans,  _ or  _ rent,  _ of all things. 

_ I’m doing Sojiro a favor,  _ he tells himself.

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. He focuses on cleaning and being as inconspicuous as possible, continuously smothering the sparks of hope that start up in his chest whenever he thinks about the bill burning in his pocket.

It could be Goro giving him another chance, just as easily as it could be Goro stabbing him in the back with pleasant, polyester words.

Sojiro closes up early with a mumbled excuse about the weather being a little dicey.

Ren barely holds himself back from racing up the steps to his room as soon as Sojiro turns the lock in the door--Morgana is up there, and Ren doesn’t want him watching or questioning him for any of this. 

Quickly stripping himself of the horrible green apron he’s forced to wear, he tosses up to Morgana a hurried, garbled excuse about how he has to go to the bathroom, since that’s the only place that has any semblance of privacy in this whole rotten café, shutting and locking the door to prevent the cat from intruding.

He pulls the bill out. Written on it are two lines.

**A chaotic pack of sardines.**

**Lunch is at noon.**

He finds himself running his fingertips over the ink, feather-light and aching.

His metal gray eyes stare solemnly back at him from the foggy mirror.

_ You know what to do, don’t you? _ his reflection whispers, echoing quietly. 

He nods at nothing, putting the only decent part of himself to use.

Deciphering the second line is easy. It’s an invitation--and a deadline. The place is obvious. There’s only one place in all of Tokyo that Goro really likes--Jazz Jin. He doesn’t know what the task is yet, but if he fails to have it done by tomorrow afternoon and shows up to lunch empty-handed, that’s it. There are no more second chances. 

Despite this, his heart pounds at the fact that Goro had the grace to give him a second chance at all, especially since he doesn’t deserve it. 

He stares at the first line, reading the words over and over again, trying to make sense of them. He doesn’t need to tell himself that figuring this out is crucial--this is the task that Goro wants him to accomplish. He knows how important this is.

But he doesn’t--understand.

What do sardines have to do with anything? The only thing he knows about them is that they’re the opposite of chaotic--they swim in a condensed, calculated ball when threatened, so the line itself doesn’t make any sense. Goro’s never once said anything about them either, not even when they had gone to the aquarium. He hadn’t even looked at them.

His mind churns, spinning dizzying circles, a constant loop: sifting through information, files and files and files of memories and words and sentences and phrases. All useless. Every second is a blur into the next. His legs stiffen. His arms burn from holding their position for so long. He doesn’t remember the last time he blinked.

Morgana scratches at the door. 

Ren flinches from the harsh sound, his concentration broken.

“Ren?” his annoying,  _ worried _ voice floats in--it doesn’t matter how lightly he says it. He’s invaded his once private space, like a sewing needle stabbing fabric or a syringe jabbing a victim or a rock suddenly thrown into the calm of a lake--he  _ is  _ calm, he is--and it sends ripples,  _ waves,  _ across the--placid--surface. “Are you alright? You’ve been in there a long time…”

“I’m fine,” Ren automatically bites out--he  _ is  _ fine--his hand clenches involuntarily on the bill, and it wrinkles a bit. Not his fault. 

He can hear the cat pacing outside the door. Morgana doesn’t say anything for a long time, even though Ren can tell he desperately wants to open his cat mouth and cry inane locutions, unwanted concern for his  _ well-being.  _ He’s perfectly fine. 

Perfectly fine. 

His heart throbs.

“It’s late, Ren,” he eventually says. “Let’s go to bed.”

Ren grinds his teeth as he stares at the words, knowing that no matter how hard he stares at them and no matter how badly he wants it, they won’t magically reveal their hidden meaning. 

He might as well get in bed--he can think there as well as he can think here, and complying has the added bonus of placating Morgana for the night. Ren knows the cat will pester him about this in the morning, but that’s a future Ren problem.

If he lives that long. Failure isn’t an option, after all.

So he folds the bill carefully, shoving it and his hands in his pockets. He ignores the cat as he opens the door, climbs the stairs stiffly, and changes into his sleepwear, flopping down onto the bed, pulling the covers over his shoulders and feigning sleep. He can feel when Morgana hops onto the bed with him, can feel his large blue eyes right on the back of his head.

There’s a weird tension in the air, the kind right before a heist, right before an infiltration, right before they steal a heart. A confrontation. Ren just barely stops himself from tensing up in anxiety.

But the cat seems to think better of whatever he was going to say, sighing a little. He settles down right against the thief’s neck, and whispers, “Goodnight, Ren.”

He feels numb.

Inevitably his mind turns to Goro, and his heart swoops in his chest. Ren clutches at it, curling in on himself as the detective’s written words float unbidden into his brain.

**A chaotic pack of sardines.**

He rearranges the letters, the words, and tries to make a word from each letter at the beginning and at the end, but none of it works. The moon moves, the stars grow brighter, Morgana’s breathing gets heavier, and nothing makes sense.

It’s quiet.

His head, his heart--they hurt.

The cat’s whiskers tickle at his neck and he can’t stand it anymore.

Ren digs his fingernails into the sheets--glares at the wall and pretends it’s Morgana--a useless pile of fur, a waste of space. 

_ Thine feline nuisance has become a larger complication,  _ his shadow quips in his head, words laced with his unique cadence, his black persuasion. 

Ren pointedly sharpens his glare.

Arsene chuckles.  _ Thieves cannot afford to be complacent when it comes to such matters,  _ he states, hands folded behind his back, a proper gentleman through and through.  _ More often than not, such complications lead to betrayal, which then leads to capture--and the subsequent stripping of freedom. No more resplendence in holding jewels whilst darting across rooftops in the swirling darkness of night, with no one but the moon and the stars as witnesses. _

Arsene’s face is an immovable mask at all times, but Ren swears he can see him glare.

_ It cannot come to pass. We cannot--will not--allow it.  _

He pauses, brushing imaginary dust from his cravat.  _ Wouldst thou be pleased to learn what hand I dealt to grievances such as these? _

Ren tilts his head, insanely, darkly, curious. It matches the swirl in his heart.  _ What did you do? _

An image presents itself in his head: Arsene drags his long, black, spindly fingernail, looking so much like a needle or a knife, across his neck, cutting a fraying golden thread.

_ I cut their threads and gleefully observed their descent into the grotesque, broken, and hallowed halls of Hell. _

Ren shivers in anticipation.  _ Soon?  _

_ Presently, my dear little thief,  _ Aresene assures, bowing elegantly, tipping his hat.  _ Presently.  _

_ I can’t wait,  _ Ren whispers, his eyes glittering. Arsene grins and fades away. Fading with him is his irritation, his anger--leaving behind his vulnerable core.

Ren looks at the moon, wondering if Goro is looking at it too. 

He makes sure Morgana is asleep before checking the time on his phone.

He sucks in a quiet, dread-filled breath. Ten hours until 12:00pm. He’s running out of time.

His stomach curdles, and something awful and clawing surges through his body, pricking sweat at his temple and making him quake. It-- _ he? _ \--rises to his head and pounds against his temples, looking for escape. He grips his head, twists his fingers into his hair and pulls, trying to make the pain become a grounding point, a tether--he has to keep it in, it can’t escape, that’s not  _ me _ \--but he’s floating too far away, his head is caught in a storm.

He carefully extracts himself from the bed without waking Morgana, padding quickly but quietly across the room, gripping the railing all the way down through the raging nausea and dizziness, his other hand moving to cover his mouth when he feels his stomach rebel and his throat clench. He swallows down the acid, and it burns so bad he can’t breathe. 

So he doesn’t. It’s a miracle he doesn’t lose his balance and fall down the stairs.

He opens and closes the door as softly as he can with tense, shaking arms, stumbling his way to the toilet. As quietly as possible, Ren vomits half-digested food and acid-infused water until there’s nothing left to expel except bile and desperation.

He forces himself to breathe slow, breathe normal, even as his body begs for more oxygen. Morgana can’t know.  _ He can’t know. _

He needs to wipe away the evidence before it sinks into his clothes; the flush of a toilet and the sink running are legitimate excuses about using the restroom in the normal way. 

So he pushes himself up and turns the handle, gripping the rim with both shaking hands-- _ stop shaking, that’s suspicious _ \--and hauling himself up onto aching legs. Almost immediately he falls over, slamming an arm against the wall for support, but he pushes himself away from it just as quickly.

He can’t be weak or reliant on anything other than himself. Goro would be disappointed.

Swallowing down the remnants of his sickness, he takes a tentative step towards the sink and he wobbles, but stays upright. Two more steps and he’s situated right in front of it.

Pathetic. It took him ten whole minutes to walk three steps.

He turns on the tap and splashes cold water on his face, rinsing out his mouth, washing his hands. He brushes his teeth for good measure. And then he stares.

His face is terrible. Awful. Ugly. Worse when wet.

Oh but that’s new. Did the color of his eyes always match that of an old, dull tin can?

A tin can…

Ren blinks. A memory comes unbidden to his mind.

It’s him and Ryuji taking the subway. Ryuji is complaining about something again. Ren normally doesn’t care, but he’s bored and listening to Ryuji is fun sometimes. He likes thinking about how Goro would refute him, outsmarting his every argument. 

“Ugh, this is why I hate taking the subway for festivals! It’s always so damn crowded, like a fucking tin can. And so chaotic too! I could lose my wallet or somethin’ important! You get it, don’t you Renren?”

He hates that nickname. But he’s onto something--chaos. The train is a tin can--the people are chaotic.

He thinks about sardines again. His mind repeats the motions of sorting through files--the sardine ball fills his head. But then he thinks of dull metal, and the blue fades, replaced by garish packaging--and how the sardines inside are packed tightly together to save space.

Like people on a train.

The people are the chaotic sardines. The train is the packaging.

So...so...the subway. Goro wanted him to figure out that he’s talking about the subway. But what about the subway? What does the subway have to do with anything?

_ Come on Ren, think. Goro’s giving you another chance. Don’t fuck it up…! _

He’s so close. The subway. The subway. Goro.

His face falls, his mask cracks. He covers his eyes with his hands, trying not to cry.

He’s failing. He’s falling.

Goro’s eyes are so pretty. Unlike his.

Red like blood. Mulled like wine. Flay him open with a sword, his burning red sword.

A perfect match to Mementos.

Ren blinks.

_ There are subways in Mementos. _

Goro wants him to go to Mementos.

He looks at his face, sees the sickly pallor hollowing his cheeks, the darkness creeping in under his eyes, his trembling shoulders, all of it thrown into stark clarity due to the single fluorescent bulb hanging from the ceiling.

He doesn’t have a choice. It needs to happen now, before the cafe opens.

He can’t risk opening the front door; the bell might wake Morgana, and the cat would ask far too many questions that Ren doesn’t have any believable excuses for.

He’ll have to enter the Metaverse from Leblanc. He needs his phone--he left it upstairs.

He sneaks upstairs and grabs his phone, stealthy enough, even on wobbly feet, that even Morgana’s sensitive cat ears can’t pick up on him moving around. He retreats back downstairs, opens the app, and plunges into the Metaverse without enough time to second-guess himself.

He still feels shaky, but his rebel’s clothing acts like a second skin, another layer of shadow to disguise and protect. He leaves the door unlocked for when he comes back, and then he makes his way to the station. It doesn’t take long.

He descends the stairs to the first level and immediately his eyes start to scan his surroundings for something out of place, anything that’s slightly off. But he doesn’t see anything, and it doesn’t help that his vision keeps fuzzing at the edges. His head hurts.

He needs to find something. Ren knows that Goro won’t just hand it to him; he has to look for it, search for the hidden meanings and parse out the truth. His third eye is good for that.

He focuses and his vision darkens, and then a sharp stab slams right behind his forehead, that monster--him--he’s tearing at the inside of his head again, desperately searching for a way out.

He holds his head in one hand and ignores the pain, forces his eyes to focus and search even as they blink rapidly.

There. Underneath the rail, a bit of blue.

When he lets go of his third eye the monster stops clawing, and the stab resides into a dull ache. Far more manageable.

He wastes no time, going over to the tracks and pulling out the note, unfolding it quickly.

On it are two lines.

**N.T. needs to be declawed.**

**Crows are not without shadows.**

Ren remembers Goro mentioning, off-handedly, someone going by the name of Naoka Tekuro, once. He remembers this guy’s name because Goro was complaining about work at the time, one of Ren’s favorite subjects to listen to. He likes seeing the little hints of rage slip into the detective’s expression. It makes him look very attractive.

He needs to be declawed...de-weaponized. Declawing is permanent. Goro wants this person eliminated. A mental shutdown.

Kill the Shadow.

...should be easy. It’s for Goro, after all. Anything is easy if it’s for him.

And the last line isn't anything too important either. Just a precaution to watch his back.

Rubbing his head one more time, he whispers the name into the Nav, and walks to his destination.

He’s losing.

The woman had turned into a Cerberus, and Ren doesn’t have a single persona with an ice skill. He’s too used to having Yusuke in the front lines.

The dog doesn’t let up. She shakes off his down-gun skill like it’s nothing, and hits back twice as hard. Her claws and tail have more range than his measly dagger--he hadn’t put too much stock in hitting hard, relying, again, too much on other people to pick up the slack for him.

He’s weak. That’s why he’s been backed into a corner.

The Cerberus wastes no time in taking advantage of Ren’s cornered state, swiping in a large arc.

Ren throws himself to the side, but he’s not fast enough. A sharp claw hooks into his side and  _ tears,  _ through skin and flesh and muscle and organs.

The pain alone almost knocks him out, a blazing orb of agony spreading throughout his entire body. It takes him a couple of seconds to realize that he’s screaming. His hold on his dagger slips, fingers too weak to grasp anything but air.

The Cerberus tackles him to the ground, bears her teeth with a growl, and time stops as lightning cracks against his head.

_ Is this your pathetic end, fool?  _ a voice echoes, dark and sultry like Arsene, but more sinister, more angry.  _ Is this how you die? _

Ren doesn’t respond. Cerberus’ teeth drip with hungry saliva even as the animal is suspended in time.

_ Pathetic. You’d let such a sad, lowly creature end you like this? Before you can prove your worth to your precious detective? _

A spark lights against the ashes of his heart, but it--it doesn’t feel right. He smothers it on instinct.

_ Why do you still reject me?!  _ he screeches, clawing right behind Ren’s eyes. _ I see everything in you, feel every dark urge, indulge in all those depraved fantasies you have! There is nothing between us that is secret!  _

Time starts to move again. Cerberus’ slobbering maw inches closer to his neck.

_...we’re both running out of time,  _ the monster--himself--states grimly.  _ Don’t you want to protect him? I have that power. I would willingly give it to you if you would just--let me go. Free me from this cage of bones. _

Ren’s heart freezes in his chest.  _ You...promise? You have that kind of strength? And you would let me use it? _

The monster stills, his voice going soft with sincerity.  _ I am thou. And thou art I. _

_ I cannot lie to you,  _ goes unsaid, because Ren can hear it.

Ren doesn’t want to die. And he’s tired of lying to himself, tired of repressing and restraining his dark urges.

And he wants power. He wants to be Goro’s equal. To stand on even ground with him.

Time resumes, and air bursts forth from him, stronger than when he awoke to Arsene. It sends the Cerberus flying.

The pain in his side is forgotten as he stands up and pulls off his mask, calling out a new name for a new self.

_ “SATANAEL!!” _

Ren limps his way back into Leblanc. His side is a searing fire of hurt that stutters his breath and makes him stumble almost every step he takes, but he can’t afford to stop. Not yet.

He hadn’t had any personas with healing skills either. He had only a small, old pill from Takemi that he had forgotten about in his pocket. It just barely slowed the blood flow--did nothing to blunt the pain. 

He hates that he’s become so weak as to rely on other people for even  _ healing skills _ . Atrocious. Why was he even put on the front lines, except out of pity?

He stumbles into the bathroom of Leblanc, dripping blood onto the floor despite the pressure he’s putting on the wound. 

Fuck. This is bad.

He has to do something--but he doesn’t keep any medical supplies on him, and even if he did he wouldn’t know how to use them. Takemi isn’t open this late--early?--and she would question why he has such a grievous wound in the first place. 

Ren doesn’t need questions.

How is he going to explain this to Morgana?

An idea pops into his head--it’s insane. But he’s out of options.

He exits the Metaverse, and the first thing he notices is that his shirt is cut--a carryover from the cognitive world. The hand holding the pressure is stained with blood.

He ignores the lines of fire that expand from his side with each step, opening the door and moving to the kitchen. Rummaging around as quietly as he can, he finds what he’s looking for: the glass pitcher he uses for pour overs. As he holds it in his clean hand, he looks at the ground, takes a deep breath, and doesn’t think about how much this is going to hurt.

“For Goro,” he whispers to himself.

He throws down the pitcher, shattering it, and then makes himself--or rather, lets himself--fall onto the shards of glass.

He doesn’t have to fake his scream.

Automatically he curls up against the pain, shaking and shivering. He hears Morgana run down the stairs, no doubt awoken by his scream.

“Ren?!” he yells, and Ren can feel him behind his head. “What happened?!”

“Fell…” the raven whimpers, sniffling. When--did he start crying? Is he crying because of--the shards of glass digging into his side or if he’s--if it’s--

Goro. Goro.

_ Help me, Goro,  _ he whimpers to himself. Arsene and Satanael curl around his mind like a bandage, but they can only stop the blood flow. They can’t mend the wound.

“Oh boy, okay,” Morgana mutters to himself. “How did you fall? A-and why is there glass everywhere?”

Ren takes in ragged breath after ragged breath, but eventually he finds his voice. He has to placate Morgana or he’ll get suspicious.

“Felt sick…went to the--bathroom--” he curls his arms around himself protectively and bunches up his legs, but even that hurts, “I-I threw up. I wanted some...some water, so I--got the pitcher. Was gonna fill it up...but I got d-dizzy--fell down after I dropped it.”

“We have to slow the blood flow, right? Do w-we have any bandages?” Morgana questions frantically, seemingly desperate.

Ren only has the strength to shake his head ‘no’.

“Oh, oh, oh no,” the cat is pacing now. “This is bad. This is very bad.”

Ren is losing focus on his voice, so he tunes him out and narrows his concentration on managing the pain and staying conscious. Sweat starts to prick at his hairline.

“Is there nothing I can do…?” Ren hears, and something in his heart twinges. He’s not--used to anyone other than Goro eliciting that response from him.

He bites his lip. Smothers the spark.

He only needs one.

Morgana paces a little more, and then he settles behind Ren’s neck, purring as loud as he can.

He feels numb.

Time passes. He twitches sometimes, and the blood beneath him shifts with a soft  _ squick.  _

He never figured out what that last line really meant. Goro’s going to be disappointed.

Eventually he hears keys jingling, and his mind snaps into clarity. Sojiro is coming to open the café.

He has to get up--but he can’t. It hurts.

He desperately wants Goro.

He hears the lock turn in the door, and his mind kicks into overdrive--he can’t let anyone else see him like this--only Goro should be allowed to see him be so weak--and he tries to push himself up but his arms have stiffened from having been curled around his middle for so long. 

His vision blurs and blackens but he fights against it, even if he doesn’t understand why he’s so weak in the first place, but still he can’t hold himself up for more than a few seconds.

He falls back down against the unforgiving shards again, new slices carved into his skin, and a pained noise escapes from his throat against his will. Distantly--every sound is so distant, why are they so far away?--he can hear footsteps walking in and then the lights flick on. It’s too bright, so he shuts his eyes tightly.

Morgana stirs and rushes to Sojiro, clawing and meowing at him and leading him to where Ren is crumpled on the floor.

“Kid?” Sojiro’s voice filters in, and the concern in his voice is too much--Ren can’t handle it. He doesn’t want them here. He wants Goro.

Goro isn’t here.

The blackness takes over his mind and he slips into unconsciousness.

Ren meets Goro at noon, after a trip to Takemi’s and placating both Sojiro and Morgana that he was fine for an outing. They have a nice time, even if his side sears with fire every time he so much as shifts in his seat, even as his brain feels like it’s been replaced with air, even as he loses his balance with nearly every step. Goro doesn’t seem to notice his injury. 

That’s good. Ren can’t stand the idea of Goro knowing how reliant he’s become on his pathetic excuse of a team.

There’s news about another mental breakdown, and Goro’s smile turns sharp and bright and genuine when he reads about it.

Goro gives him another target, on a crumpled up napkin this time. And then another, on a wrinkled sheaf of newspaper. And another, on a discarded candy wrapper.

Ren kills them all. It gets easier each time.

He gets stronger, too. He fuses so many personas, to cover all the shadow’s weaknesses so he doesn’t have to heal anymore. He feeds Satanael and Arsene until their defenses are unbreakable. He never lets down his guard. He becomes merciless.

He doesn’t get hit anymore.

He can tell that Goro is proud of him, because the next note he leaves only has one line on it. 

**The crow wants his shadow the most when the sun dips below the horizon.**

Ren can’t keep the smile off of his face--he understands now that when the detective talks about crows and shadows, he’s talking about him and Ren. 

The note means that Goro trusts him again. Goro  _ trusts him again.  _

He can’t keep the smile off his face.

He shows up at Goro’s apartment that very same evening.

Goro’s smile is real and radiant when he opens the door. Ren’s heart flutters in his chest as he steps inside and closes the door behind him.

“Come here, Ren,” Goro says, and Ren does.

Goro pulls him into a hug, settles a hand on his waist and in his hair. He tucks him close to his body, gently guiding his head to rest at the junction of neck and shoulder, running his fingers through black curls.

Ren doesn’t dare to breathe. His hands remain limp at his sides, eyes wide in disbelief.

“You’ve done so well,” Goro murmurs right in his ear, his warm breath skimming across the top of it. “I’m so  _ proud  _ of you.”

Ren shivers. Closes his eyes. Tentatively wraps his arms around the warm body in front of him.

Goro plays with one of his curls. “Relax.”

He does. He sags against the detective, clings to him with weak fingers, buries his face into his shoulder.

Goro supports them both easily. He kisses the side of Ren’s head tenderly. 

The raven doesn’t know how long they hug for. Time is irrelevant when he can feel Goro’s fingers comb slowly through his hair, working through tangles and massaging out tension with each stroke.

Ren’s brain fogs over. All of the stress he hadn’t known he’d been feeling seeps out of him and dissolves into the floor, and he’s left feeling like he’s floating in a space separate from reality.

Weak. Vulnerable. Pliant. 

He can still feel and see and hear everything Goro is doing, but it all has a layer of fuzziness to it, all hard edges softened down. He feels in his whole essence that as long as he is in Goro’s arms nothing bad can happen to him.

That’s why when Goro bends down, slips an arm under the backs of his knees and around his shoulders, lifting him up, Ren just readjusts his arms so that they are hooked around his neck, still hiding his face. His side still hurts, the scab and the sensitive skin around it brushing uncomfortably against his clothes, but it’s blunted by the fog.

Goro moves them to the couch and settles Ren across his lap. He grabs the television remote and flicks it on, and Ren distantly recognizes the Featherman jingle. He doesn’t really care about it, but it’s nice background noise.

It’s so nice. There’s no weight on his shoulders, not right now. No confusion, no Morgana, no personas screaming at him. Just the comforting weight of Goro Akechi underneath him, his hand returning to comb through his hair. Ren closes his eyes.

At the feeling of something being wrapped around him he blinks them open again. It’s a blanket.

Ren looks up questioningly at Goro, and when the detective notices he just smiles warmly at him, bumping noses and foreheads.

“Rest, shadow,” Goro whispers to him as he kisses his eyelids, and Ren complies, curling into a ball, pulling his hands closer to himself, shifting so that the blanket covers everything except for his head. Goro pulls him closer with his other hand, hooking around his legs to rest just above his waist, right on top of his injury.

He can’t hold back a quiet whimper when Goro’s fingers press gently into his skin, burying further into the warm and hiding his face. The brunette stills, but then he wraps his arm around Ren’s shoulders and brings him closer still, nosing at Ren’s neck and breathing deep. He tightens the hold he has on him, as if he can’t get close enough.

Eventually he relaxes, keeping his hand in Ren’s hair. “Let go, Ren. Let go.”

Ren obeys. 

He lets sensation come to him without reaction, lets his thoughts run unfiltered in his head.

Goro smells nice. It’s warm. 

He doesn’t quite sleep, teetering on the edge of full unconsciousness, but everything fades pleasantly into the background. It’s better rest than he’s had in a long time. He feels energy lethargically roll it’s way throughout his body.

Eventually he blinks open his eyes when Goro reaches for the remote to change the channel.

Goro’s neck is right there, tan and unmarked. It looks like it would taste good.

He leans up and licks it. It does taste good. Tastes like Goro.

Goro takes in a startled breath, looking down at him, but Ren just goes for another taste.

The detective lets him. Ren keeps licking, up and down, side to side.

It’s not enough. Ren wants more.

He brings his hand to the side of Goro’s face, dislodging the blanket, pulling the detective closer. He starts sucking lightly at the muscle, not enough to mark, and yet Goro’s breathing stutters a bit. It tastes like skin and musk and Ren still wants more. He wants to bite.

But as soon as his teeth graze the skin, Goro pulls away.

“Stop it,” he murmurs unkindly. Ren pulls back, expression twisting with familiar anxiety, but Goro quickly leans down to kiss it away. Goro Akechi is kissing him.

Oh. He’s fully awake now.

Goro’s prying apart his lips with his tongue, one hand cupping his face while he brushes his fingers down Ren’s chest with the other.

Ren makes this little noise in the back of his throat when Goro licks the roof of his mouth, makes it again when Goro manhandles him into a different position, one where Goro is straddling him, crowding him against the couch, the blanket falling off his shoulders and onto the couch.

Once the thief’s initial shock has worn off he reciprocates, reaching up to fist his fingers into Goro’s blazer, but he lets Goro dictate and dominate the kiss.

When they part, after which Ren is sure Goro knows every crevice of his mouth, they’re both panting. Goro’s pupils are dilated.

Ren’s heart pounds and aches with the implications. Goro wants him.

“Don’t move,” Goro commands. His voice has gotten deeper, desire coloring it.

He disappears into another room. 

Ren stares at the ceiling, his hands limp at his sides. He can’t quite believe this is happening to him. Just the other day he was sure that Goro wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

And now here he is. In his apartment. On his couch. And Ren’s hopeful heart lurches at the idea that maybe Goro is going to do more than what he just did.

When Goro returns with an armful of toys, excitement courses through his veins like a shot of drugs.

He dumps everything except for a knife on the coffee table in the middle of the room, and then he returns to his previous position of straddling Ren’s waist. Ren can’t help the way his eyes are drawn to the gleaming metal, can’t help the way he gut starts to burn.

His breath hitches when Goro brings the knife up to his chest, but it’s not from fear. 

"Ren," the detective whispers, caressing his face softly, "do you want this?"

Ren eyes move from the knife to Goro's red, red eyes. 

He takes a breath. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Goro smiles as he drags the knife down his chest, cutting through fabric and tracing a thin line of blood. 

"Shh," the brunette whispers in response to Ren’s whine of--pain, pleasure, most likely a mix of the two. It’s hard to tell. Goro licks his lips as a drop of blood rolls lazily across the pale expanse of his skin, catching on his shirt and staining it. "Let me take care of you, beautiful."

It's _ so good, _ the pain is so much better than when Shadows hit him, so much more meaningful and potent and overwhelming in the absolute best way, and Ren can't fucking think. He thinks Goro is trapping him with the hurt and the pleasure and god, he would walk into whatever trap Goro set if it meant he could  _ keep feeling this good. _

Goro leans down after lowering the knife, using his thumbs to spread the cut wider, and then burying his face into the raven’s chest and he bites and licks and sucks at the wound, and Ren wants more, wants it to hurt more, he wants Goro’s hands bruising his neck, wants his dick pounding into him, wants him to fuck his organs out of his mouth.

"You taste so good," Goro whispers, almost reverent, licking his lips of any residual blood. He shifts on Ren’s lap, cradling one side of his face as he brings the knife up to the underside of Ren’s chin, tilting it this way and that, looking for the best angle. Without preamble he slices it across the side of his neck, and the sharp sting combined with the sensation of hot liquid trickling down makes Ren shiver down to his very toes. Again Goro spreads the cut with his thumbs, determined to tear the wound apart as he sinks his rough tongue into his flesh, sucking loudly, right in Ren’s ear.

"G-goro--!" he moans, reaching up to sink his fingers into Goro's wonderfully soft and silky hair and push his head further into him, hoping to convey just how much he wants the brunette to completely destroy him.

Goro doesn't oblige the underlying request. Instead he breaks away, grabbing Ren's hands and pulling them out of his honey brown locks with deceptive gentleness.

"Ah ah ah," Goro chides. "Bad."

Ren whines but obeys the hidden command, letting his hands fall limply at his sides.

“Hmm,” Goro hums, setting the knife down on the cushion of the sofa he currently has Ren pinned down on. “We can’t have that kind of thing happening again. Think you can keep those hands of yours where they’re supposed to be?”

Ren blinks and forces his mind to think about the question. 

He thinks about having to hold back from running his hands across the detective's clothes, skin, his everything. He thinks about how he'd have to keep himself from touching the perfect globes of his ass, from stroking his hard, no doubt beautiful and perfect cock. He thinks about how he would have to restrain himself from gathering up all of Goro's fluids in his hands, his sweat, his cum, maybe his blood and his tears and lifting them to his mouth and swallowing them all at once.

He doesn't think he can do it.

"No," Ren whimpers quietly, honestly.

Goro makes this manic little smile, like that was the exact answer he wanted to hear, before it gets replaced with an expression that reflects heavy disappointment. It makes Ren very sad, even though somewhere in his hazy mind he registers--he  _ knows  _ that it's fake.

"What a shame," Goro mutters, reaching behind him and grabbing a bundle of rope from the pile of toys littering the coffee table.

Ren whines, upset that he didn't live up to Goro's expectations. "Sorry, Goro, I'm sorry..."

"Are you really sorry?" the detective states nonchalantly, unwinding the black cord.

"Yes!" Ren exclaims while nodding frantically, wishing there was a better way to express his repentance for his inadequacy. "I'll make it up to you, just please...please don't stop."

"Desperate already," Goro murmurs with a solid hint of heat in his voice, leaning forward to kiss Ren's forehead. "Hold your hands out."

Ren follows the command without a second of hesitation, which Goro smirks at and starts looping the rope around his wrists.

The thief squirms at the sensation of his hands being tied forcefully together, almost to the point of pain--and that's not what he wants. Ren wants it to hurt, he wants his blood flow to be cut off, wants his skin to burn as he tries to fruitlessly escape, wants his vessels to pop and color his skin in wonderful shades of red and blue and yellow and purple.

But Ren isn't impudent enough to ask for it. If this is how Goro wants him, then Ren will do it, and anything in between.

Goro must see something in his face because he stops looping the rope. But he doesn't let go of it. "Uncomfortable?"

Ren shakes his head, because that's the right answer.

The brunette glares at him and yanks harshly on the rope, pulling Ren forward so that he can see the anger seated deep in his eyes.  _ "Don't lie to me." _

Ren swallows the sudden burst of fear clogging his airway, only for it to bounce back up and lodge in his throat again.

“Let’s try this again,” Goro growls.  _ “Uncomfortable?” _

The raven swallows and almost imperceptibly nods his head ‘yes’.

Instantly the detective's demeanor changes--his eyes light up and his glare softens into a small, genuine little smile. "Good boy."

Ren's whole body shakes with unconcealed tremors of pleasure at the praise. Oh, he wants to continue being a good boy if Goro--if his  _ master _ \--won't stop doing things to him. God, he doesn't care what it is. He just doesn't want it to  _ end. _

"I'll ask a different question this time," Master mentions, adjusting the ropes back into their proper place on his wrists. "Is there anything that you want?"

"...tighter," Ren manages to get out, his voice breathy and reedy even though nothing has been shoved down or into it. Yet.

"Oh? Would my darling little boy like it to hurt?" __

Ren's words fail him at being called such a possessive title, that his Master wants to  _ own  _ him, so he forces himself to give another almost imperceptible nod.

"You're being so well-behaved for me," Master coos, stroking Ren's face. "Do you know what happens to good boys?"

Ren doesn't know, so he shakes his head, having learned that his Master appreciates his honesty.

Master's smile turns into the perfect image of crazed glee. "Good boys get  _ rewarded." _

At the last word, Master tightens the rope so swiftly that Ren can feel his skin burn from the friction, can feel his skin folding over itself, can feel the bones of his wrists being crushed together.

A strangled sound escapes from Ren's throat, followed by a flare of heat in his gut that makes him hunch over, head dropping onto the detective’s chest. He can’t help but pant and moan brokenly, obscenely. He can't believe how  _ amazing _ it feels.

Ren can feel his Master shiver in his lap. He smiles dazedly, pleased to have made his Master feel good. 

"Absolutely breathtaking," Master says, tying the rope off and settling more comfortably on top of him. "I'd love to listen to you make those sounds all day."

Ren somehow manages to work around his thick tongue and heavy brain enough to formulate the words that his Master deserves to hear.

"I'd do a-anything for Master…" he grunts, feeling winded from even that much.

Master freezes on his lap, eyes wide, before he smiles at the title and the promise--and it's perfect, it's everything Ren has ever wanted before. 

“You’re a good little pet, aren’t you?” Master praises as he reaches over and grabs the knife again. Ren squirms at Master's body heat, at how it travels through his body like poison as he shifts in his lap.

The detective lifts up the knife to Ren's face, eyes scrutinizing every feature before he settles the metal on the curve of his cupid's bow, tracing it's outline before pressing into the soft swell of his bottom lip and gathering a bead of blood there. 

"You have such a pretty mouth," his Master praises, lifting the metal up to his own lips, staring at the red liquid slowly sliding down the edge, before he drags his tongue across it, closing his eyes so that he can savor it more. "What am I going to do with it, I wonder...I could shove a toy down there for you, make you choke on it. Or I could feed you my cock, make you kneel before me where you belong and put those perfect lips of yours to good use. I don't which would be better, honestly. "

He opens his eyes at Ren's resulting mewl, setting aside the knife so that he can cup the raven's entire face in his hands. A stray finger brushes over the cut on his neck, sending another delicious jolt of pain down his spine. "Oh, beautiful, I can't decide if I should shut you up or not."

Master kisses him, licks into his mouth without hesitation, and Ren can feel the metallic taste of blood on his own tongue, and that's when he realizes that Master must have cut himself with the knife, and that it's  _ his blood that's sliding down his throat. _

Ren moans loudly into the asphyxiating kiss, the thought of having his Master  _ in  _ him sending waves of heat and arousal all over his body and he writhes for more, his fingers finding purchase against Master's blazer, curling into the fabric. More lines of pain arc up his arms, and he can't think of anything else except for the singular, hazy thought that he wants more of Master in him, his sweat his blood his flesh, he wants to taste every flavor and every nuance--anything,  _ please-- _

His Master parts, a string of bloody saliva connecting them and Ren's body takes in air against his will.

"What sweet music that comes from you," his Master whispers, rubbing his thumb across Ren's incredibly flushed cheek. "It would be a shame to muffle it, no?"

Ren doesn't--can't--answer. He's too busy mourning the loss of Master's lips on him, even though he's right in front of him.

"Then again," Master states, sinking his fingers into the raven's hair and yanking with all of his might, his head hitting the back of the couch. It makes him yelp and then positively  _ shake  _ from the electric fire coursing it’s way down his spine. "I want to be the only person who knows how you sound when you're at my mercy."

Ren can’t think. Ren doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to think at all--he lets his Master’s everything overwhelm him, invade him like an infection.

“What do you think, Ren?" Master whispers into Ren's ear in that silky sweet voice of his, leaning closer. "Should I quiet you, or should I let your mouth be free?”

Ren blinks multiple times. 

“Don’t keep me waiting,” Master adds, his warm breath tickling Ren’s ear and adding to the growing fog in his head.

He has to choose?

Oh god. The heat and the pain are stopping any higher brain function, but he has to think, he has to make the right decision, he has to be perfect for Master because if he’s not Master will most certainly throw him away. 

Ren heaves in breath after breath as he tries to get his faltering brain to work, tries to compare the pros and cons of any decision like he normally does, like he’s so good at doing, like Master praises him for--but it’s so much harder, it feels like trying to move a cat when it’s dead asleep and has no intention of shifting at all, like trying to start a car battery when it's been dead for years, like trying to force a fish to grow legs or a planet out of orbit.

A little inkling of  _ something _ passes through the fog, and Ren grabs it with both hands--and he realizes he doesn’t want to be muted. He wants Master to hear all the noises he makes in perfect clarity, hear his own voice slowly pitch up higher as his Master pleasures him more, wants to scream his Master’s name at the top of his lungs, engrave the sound in his memory, burst his eardrums with the volume, wants his throat torn up and his voice to be gone with how long and loud and harsh he screams. He wants to give Master his voice in every way, wants him to elicit every cadence and credence and lilt, wants his moans and groans and grunts and growls and mewls and whines and whimpers and and and--he wants them all to echo and ring throughout the apartment, wants the soundwaves to imprint themselves into the walls. He wants Master to hear it, he wants the neighbors to hear it, he wants the whole complex to hear it, he wants, wants, wants,  _ wants-- _

He wants.

“Free,” the raven breathes, eyelids fluttering as he opens them, tugging at his bonds and unable to hold back a shiver at the sting of the rope and at how he’s unable to move his hands at all.

Master leans back so that he can look Ren in the eyes again, dislodging Ren's hands and tilting his head, smiling wistfully, cradling Ren’s cheek with one hand as he responds with, “What a shame.”

Master reaches behind himself again, this time coming back with a bright red ball gag clutched in his hand, the metal of the belt clinking softly.

“M-master…?” Ren asks, confused and a little scared. Did he do something wrong? Is he being punished?

Master shakes his head in the negative, easily reading Ren's thoughts. “You’re perfectly fine, pet. I just think that you would look wonderful with this in your mouth, drooling and sniffling and sucking, making a mess of yourself. Besides,” he pauses, leans in until their noses and foreheads are brushing, and it reassures Ren, being this close and having his fears soothed, “you belong to me. All of you belongs to me, including everything that comes out of these adorable lips of yours. And I want to keep it all to myself.”

Ren doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all. Instead he closes his lips even though he was panting not ten seconds ago, and in a fit of rebellion, shakes his head ‘no’.

The air coils and tightens in the air, until it is a physical weight that settles uncomfortably on his shoulders--he really should know by now that rejecting anything that Master wants is a mistake--he shudders at the not-so-distant memory where he didn't exist, and as expected Master’s eyes go flat and angry.

He jerks himself up from where he was settled on his lap, not gentle in any way in sharp contrast to how he'd just been, and Ren scrambles, tries to follow and bring him back, because he just screwed up and he should-- _ he has  _ to make it up to him. 

“You stay there,” Master bites out, the thin veneer of calm doing nothing to hide just how upset he is, shoving him back onto the couch with a firm hand to his chest, and not even the pleasurable sting of the cut there can do anything against how similar it is, how Master is pushing him away like-- _ like-- _

“It’s clear that you don't care for what  _ I  _ want,” Master continues, but someone else is saying it too, a memory flying to the forefront of his mind at the words, and the face of his parents, his friends, someone who he thought loved him but really didn’t--they all overlay over his Master’s face--all sharing that same look of disinterested disappointment. Ren abhors that expression. He's so sick of seeing it, so tired of being hurt by it. But it all flies out the window with Master's next words. “You're being so selfish, Ren. I honestly don't know what I expected.”

Ren is reeling like he's been struck by a physical blow. It hurts.

He feels  _ so much pain.  _ It tears through his entire being--it’s too much, it’s not possible for any one person to feel this much hurt over having failed to reach the one person he’s ever truly cared about, over having made the wrong decision, over seeing a wall come between them, over being unable to reach him ever again.

He has to fix this. It doesn’t matter what  _ he _ wants anymore. The only important thing is Master Goro--pleasing him, making him happy, and that Ren is molding and breaking himself, putting the pieces back together into the perfect image, object, whatever it is that Master wants him to be.

And right now, Master wants him gagged--but he isn’t looking, and he’s stepped away, so Ren has to do it himself.

He reaches for where Master had discarded the gag on the cushion, wincing and whimpering at the jolts of pain and ecstasy that snake up his nerves at the slightest wiggle of his fingers. He fights through the way it makes him fumble, latching shivering fingers around the red ball, opening his mouth and shoving it in, reaching over his head to secure the belt in place.

By the time he’s done he’s already drooling around the silicone, panting at the emotions and sensations roiling through his body.

He looks up to see if he’s pleased his Master by doing this, if this was an adequate apology.

Master isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at his phone.

Not again. 

Ren whimpers for attention, but Master just scowls and doesn’t acknowledge him.

Ren fucked up. He made Master upset.

Not again.

It’s all so much that the tears pool and fall unbidden from his eyes, sobs muffled by the self-imposed gag, and Ren squeezes his eyes shut against it.

He hears Master gasp and the subsequent thud of an object falling to the floor, and then he feels warm hands cupping his face, and Ren blinks his eyes open to see--

Master is looking at him like he’s crying stars instead of salty water. His eyes are wide and his mouth is slightly agape, and he looks just about as  _ taken  _ as an artist is with a masterpiece or a historian is with an ancient artifact.

“Oh, beautiful,” Master whispers, brushing his thumb through the silvery trail of Ren’s tears, licking those lips of his. “You did this for me…?"

Ren nods frantically, unable to keep himself from leaning heavily into his Master's touch.

"Oh," Master breathes, like he can't believe it.

His astonishment leaves him quickly and soon he's peppering kisses on every bit of Ren's skin that he can find. "I forgive you, shadow."

But Ren can't stop crying. He doesn't know why.

"You look so  _ pretty  _ like this, crying around a gag…” Master says when he pulls back, still brushing reassuring thumbs over Ren's heated cheeks.

Ren just sobs some more, because it’s so hard to do anything else.

Master grabs and lifts the tip of the discarded knife and rests it dangerously, gently close to his eye, the sharp edge resting against the delicate skin of the underside of his eyelid, catching the drops as they escape from him. 

Master lifts up the knife to the light, his face pointed heavenward, watching raptly as the salty liquid slips down along the edge to the tip, gathering up into one precarious, clear bead, threatening to drop at any moment.

Ren can only watch as the detective closes his eyes as if in prayer, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue, looking so much like he’s accepting the offerings of the Lord. As if Ren’s tears are holy to him.

And then he taps the knife with his finger, accepting the single, clear drop into his mouth. Master seals his lips slowly, swallowing audibly, and then he  _ shivers. _

His Master shivers, and then he shakes, and then he brings his other hand up to his cheek and lets out a sound of absolute and utter ecstasy--he squirms in place, and his face has flushed, and when he looks at Ren he looks dazed and pleasured beyond belief. He almost looks  _ drugged. _

“Oh,  _ Ren,  _ my beautiful, beautiful shadow,” Master simpers, a mad, mad light in his eyes as he leans ever closer, invading the raven’s personal space, face inches away, lips almost touching the gag. “I absolutely  _ adore  _ what your tears do to me.”

Ren doesn’t know how to react to that other than whimper and beg for something, anything, just give him more of his Master. 

“Your gag looks a little loose,” Master whispers as he seats himself across Ren’s lap again, trapping his bound hands in between their chests, sparks of delicious heat wracking through his arms. “You did a wonderful job, pet, but let me tighten that for you.”

Master reaches around and undoes the belt with swift, deft fingers, adjusting it slightly before slowly, achingly pulling the leather snug against his skin. He keeps pulling it tighter until Ren can hear both the leather and his jaw creak, but he does it so sluggishly that with each passing second he can’t tell the difference.

His jaw aches. But it feels--better. It feels so much better, having the leather eat into the sides of his mouth and his cheeks, the silicone pressing against his tongue and the roof of his mouth heavily, harshly. Reassuringly.

At the same time, it's agonizing. He almost can’t stand the tenderness, and coupled with the relief that he hasn't driven his Master away with his mistake, he can't keep himself from  _ crying more. _

_ “Shh,”  _ his prince whispers, licking up and kissing aggressively at Ren’s face to gather as much of the salty liquid as possible. “You’re alright, shadow. You’re okay,” and he drags his tongue across his eyelashes softly as he holds Ren’s face in place, the knife still in his hand and digging into his cheekbone. “I’ve got you,” Master murmurs, and it registers somewhere in his head as the detective licks up the thin trail of blood from the new cut too, and the way it stings sends heat across his shoulders and down his chest to coil in the pit of his stomach.

The next few moments, or minutes, or hours, Ren can’t tell, he can’t register anything except for the occasional sting across his skin, slick and warm against cool metal, and the throb of his heart when a feeling like sandpaper rakes right across where he feels the sting.

He stops crying at some point, but Master doesn't stop. 

Coolness swoops across his fevered body in fits and starts, fabric falling off in pieces, Master’s gloved hands stroking every bit of newly exposed skin, sometimes pinching and eliciting little whines from the back of his throat. They always come at the right time when Ren is about to fall below the surface of losing touch with his surroundings, from dropping off into mindless, clouded pleasure.

Master kisses the wound on his side heavily, and Ren can’t help but whimper and whine for more.

The raven gasps back into full clarity when three wet, leather clad fingers shove themselves into his exposed hole and press obscenely against his insides.

"Gnph!" Ren gasps and moans, jerking at the sensation as Master thrusts shallowly, slowly, and somehow  _ softly,  _ working him open one little bit at a time. It burns, it stings, it hurts in all the right ways. “Hmmm…!”

“Good...good. Just like that, beautiful,” Master grunts, pinning the raven’s shoulder against the couch with his free hand, intensely focused on his task. “Relax for me.”

Ren does, because it’s for Master. He spreads his legs a bit more, doesn’t squirm as much and doesn’t clench so tight around the intrusion in his ass.

“That’s a good boy.”

Another indeterminable amount of time passes, full of the sound of Ren’s muffled moans and the squelch of lube and fingers. His insides burn as they get stretched open, a shiver wracking his nude frame each time Master spreads his fingers.

Suddenly his hole is gaping around nothing, and before Ren has the chance to understand what’s happening, his arms get suddenly jerked forward. He follows with a startled, stifled yelp, falling harshly to his knees--and then he is spun around, chest trapping his nearly numb hands against the couch.

Ren makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat, and he is quickly soothed by a hand in his hair, applying gentle pressure to the back of his head, pressing his face into the soft material. Ren closes his eyes and lets the reassurance wash over him.

He hears the sound of a zipper being undone, followed by the rustling of clothing, and then he feels something hard and blunt poke at his wet entrance.

“Breathe,” Master commands tenderly, grabbing and lifting Ren’s hips with both his gloved hands. He waits until Ren takes in as much air as he can through his stuffed up nose before pushing forward, half of his cock slipping into him.

Ren immediately tenses up around the intrusion--he’s never had anything more than fingers up there, and this is so big and thick and full. Even Master’s prep isn’t enough to prepare Ren for his size.

“You’re clenching so tight around me,” Master whispers reverently, tounging at a cut along the thief’s shoulder blade, fire and electricity causing him to tense up more as it zips along his body. “Relax, shadow. Just focus on how good it feels.”

Ren does his best to follow the command, spreading his legs more, trying to breathe around the plastic in his mouth, trying to expand his chest even with his hands trapped beneath him. Master is kissing along his spine now, lingering over every knob as his hands skitter up and down the raven’s sides, leather fingers warm and light.

Shivering around Master’s length, he tries to get his spine to uncoil, aided by the heat of Master’s lips--after some struggling through the haze blanketing him to make his brain fire electricity properly, he feels himself sink further into the couch. His neglected cock jumps and burns at even the slight amount of stimulation against the fabric of the couch. It loosens him more, sparks of heat dancing along his skin and permeating everything.

And then more of Master’s dick sinks into him at once, nearly bottoming out. Ren can’t help but let out a brazen moan as it splits him open, sniffling and drooling and pointlessly sucking against the ball in his mouth to try and pull the saliva back in. He can feel it dribble down his chin and wet the blanket and cushion below him.

The blanket is covered in spit, snot, tears, lube, and blood, all of which are varying degrees of wetness. Some of it chafes against him as he squirms, some of it paints him in stickiness. It’s filthy.

Ren loves it.

“Oh,” his Master grunts, stilling for a moment in his movements. “Oh, you’re so hungry for it. Look at how eagerly you suck it in.”

One of the detective’s hands leaves his hip to trail fingertips across his ass, dipping down to trace Ren’s sensitive rim before lightly slapping him across one of his cheeks.

Ren whimpers at the sting, but it’s the good kind of sting, one that zips everywhere it can reach and then he’s clenching tighter around the cock spearing him open.

“So well trained already,” his Master breathes out, a little fast. “A good boy. You’re a good boy, aren’t you, pet?”

The question is punctuated by a thrust, skin meeting skin, and Ren gasps and whines and pushes himself against the sensation of the head of Master’s cock brushing something inside of him. Pleasure makes itself known in fire blooming inside of his stomach, flaring out beautifully. 

Ren wants to nod, to tell Master that he's a good boy for him only, but the position he’s in makes it impossible to do so. Instead he moans wantonly, pushing back against Master and tightening around Master’s cock again.

“Mmm,” Master hums, and Ren can feel hot air puffing along his back until it stops just at his ear, and then he’s whispering hotly into it, reaching up with a hand to pull on black locks, to hold his head against his clothed shoulder. “Ah...so brazen, and so filthy,” he licks the back of Ren’s ear, “I wonder if you learned this somewhere, or if you’re just--like this. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

And Master thrusts into him again, building heat and tightening it where it sits in Ren’s stomach.

“So good,” Master praises right in his ear. “You’re so good. So tight and warm, just for me.”

And then he’s leaning back again, letting go of Ren’s hair. He flops back into his mess bonelessly, whining for more. Master grabs Ren’s hips again, lifting him into position.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” Master promises, and then he does.

He fucks into Ren like he’s a doll, grip tight enough to mark, thrusting in and out of him fast and quick and brutal. He attacks that spot inside of him as if it were the weak spot of an enemy, and coupled with skillful little touches against cuts and sensitive areas has Ren falling apart quicker than he really wants. Another stain gets added to the blanket.

Master fucks him through his orgasm, and Ren can’t help but whine and squirm at the overstimulation. A hand curling around the back of his neck stops him, holds him in place even as he goes limp like a kitten.

He’s soon lost to his post-orgasmic haze, interrupted only by Master spilling into him, liquid heat searing his insides, and then by Master undoing the gag.

Without the obstruction, Ren’s mouth hangs open, cheeks and jaw aching. The sides of his mouth feel tender and raw.

Master flips him around onto his back, kisses his parted lips while he kneads his fingers gently into his cheeks. That feels better. 

He does the same with Ren’s hands, untying him while whispering reassurances, kissing each tender welt and licking up blood.

“Master…” Ren whines thinly, body weak. 

Master doesn’t say anything, licking his lips and reaching behind him for another toy. He loops the black collar around Ren’s neck efficiently, and Ren can’t help the way his member twitches when Master unties his tie, looping it around the silver ring attached to the front of the collar. He then pulls Ren forward so that he can kiss him again, and Ren melts into it, lifting shaking arms to curl around Master’s neck. Master kisses him deeper for it.

“It’s cute that you think this is over,” his Master says nonchalantly when they break away, and then Ren is gasping around the dildo being shoved into his loose hole. “It’s quite the opposite. We’re just getting started, shadow.”

Another tug on the leash, and Ren can’t help but shiver and shake in anticipation of what’s to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ABitObsessed: Look forward to the next chapter, which i hope won't take me as long LMAO  
> thanks for reading yo
> 
> my twitter is https://twitter.com/ObssessedA go fucking wild  
> (it's an 18+ please don't follow me if ur younger than that)
> 
> Blixer: thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> ABitObsessed: strap in people, this is gonna be rough. I hope you are prepared for this monstrosity.
> 
> Here's my twitter, where I always tweet out when I update shit! Please be aware it is an 18+ account, so viewer be warned!  
> https://twitter.com/ObssessedA
> 
> Blixer: Thanks for reading lol. Check out our other stuff if you want!


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